


Make It All Better (MP verse)

by Verkaiking



Series: MP Chronicles [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, OQ Happy Ending Week, Outlaw Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verkaiking/pseuds/Verkaiking
Summary: For Day 3 of Happy Endings Week (Wild Card)





	Make It All Better (MP verse)

She’s cranky. And... crampy. And he can tell.

She can tell that he can tell, because he’s hovering, and gently ushering her around like she’s some sort of old lady who can’t walk by herself. It’s days like this when she hates that he knows her so well.

His hand is warm on her back. Too warm. And her body shakes slightly as she tries to get rid of the unpleasant heat. He gets the hint promptly (too promptly), and lets his hand fall away without questioning why she’s recoiling from his touch.

He’s too understanding sometimes. It makes it hard for her to pick a fight.

And that’s really what she wants right now. Having her period show up in the middle of a workday has her in a _mood_. She’s nauseous and achy and annoyed at pretty much everything, including the all-too-knowing smile he’s giving her as he sits across from her at the dinner table.

“Shut up,” she grouses, turning her gaze to the covered plate set before her. It’s just the two of them tonight. Roland had gone to bed early after a very tiring day of playing with Henry, Agent Swan’s boy. A charming child, if Regina’s ever seen one. They get along splendidly, and she’s happy to see her son has a slightly older buddy who can teach him a little bit about growing up with a parent in a high profile government job.

She lifts the lid of her plate, and the smell is... well, it’s good, she’d never say chef Lucas cooked something disgusting, but for some reason she’s just not into it. It looks delicious, grilled chicken breast with a good assortment of roasted veggies, and in any other circumstance, it’d be a mouthwatering dish that Regina couldn’t get enough of, but tonight her belly hurts, and her head hurts, and it’s hot, and it’s all just... off.

She picks at her food, knowing Robin is watching her as he devours his own plate, sips his wine, and then his chewing somehow gets louder, more bothersome, to the point where she’s letting the fork clank against her plate as she pushes her chair back, the legs scraping against the marbled floor as she stands.

“I’m not hungry,” she snaps, and walks away without waiting for his answer.

She secludes herself in her office for the next hour, taking refuge in getting work done without an entourage of advisers, staff and security breathing down her neck. She reviews bills, drafts a couple of trade agreements, and by the time her eyes start to droop, the clock on her desk tells her it’s just past 11:00PM.

Regina then organizes her documents, hands sluggishly pairing approved bills together in one pile and corrected ones in another, all arranged in chronological order. She cleans up her desk, moves some things around, and even smoothes down a couple of wrinkles on her skirt before she finally leaves the oval, her heels dangling from two of her fingers as she walks barefoot up the stairs.

Only a few agents are posted at strategic points, barely noticeable in the long halls and spacious rooms. She waves them goodnight, a few more familiar faces stopping her for smalltalk, and by the time she reaches her bedroom door, she’s sweating, feeling way too warm for the cool spring night, and there’s a migraine brewing that promises to keep her awake for at least a couple more hours.

Her heels drop to the floor as soon as she’s inside, hands moving to massage her temples as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Anything I can do?” she hears Robin’s condescending tone (it’s not, he’s only trying to be helpful, but she can’t read it as anything but patronizing right now), and it makes her blood boil.

“Could you for once just stop coddling me?” she bites back, narrowing her eyes in his direction.

Robin sighs, but says nothing, and that just won’t do.

“Really? No comeback?”

“You’re trying to pick a fight, I’ll indulge many things, Regina, but not that,” he says firmly then, and she can detect the hint of annoyance under his comprehensive tone.

“Great, the one thing I need from you and you can’t even do that right,” she huffs. “Just forget it. I’m going to shower.”

She stalks to the bathroom then, not bothering to look back at him but already regretting her words. She’s being difficult, taking her crankiness out on him, and that’s unfair, but it’s like she can’t stop. It’s not often this bad, but she’s sweaty and bloated and goddammit she just wants to cool off and sleep.

She keeps the shower to a lukewarm temperature, letting the force of the stream soothe her sore muscles and wash away the overly warm sensation on her skin. She removes and cleans her cup, then moves to wash her hair, already craving the soft massage of soapy suds on her scalp.

The sweet, usually-comforting smell of her shampoo makes her nose wrinkle in distaste tonight, so she grabs Robin’s instead, lets the cool, refreshing scent of pine wrap around her, calming her, until her anger has dissipated almost fully and is overtaken by guilt over treating her husband so unfairly.

She gingerly reinserts her cup, puts on her PJs slowly so as not to make the cramps stronger, and walks back into the room. Robin is still there, shirtless now, and the temperature in the room has gone down considerably. It’s the one thing he always does at night when she’s like this, and it moves her every single time, has tears building up in her eyes now, as she pathetically blubbers an _I'm sorry_ and walks into his waiting arms.

“It’s alright, my love,” he tells her. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“No, it’s not alright,” she insists. “You’re my husband, not my punching bag. I shouldn’t be such a bitch to you. I’m sorry.”

He smiles down at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he teases, “You can make it up to me in a few days,” his hand moving to grasp her rear and giving her a little squeeze.

Regina chuckles, but nods. “Mmm. You got it,” she promises, lifting her head to meet his lips in a soft smooch.

The sheets are crisp and cold when she gets into bed, and Robin is solid and almost icy when her hand runs over his abs, his chest, the contact soothing her and chasing away the last of her dreadful mood.

His torso is firm and smooth under her hand, cold from the AC he’s blasting through the room to keep her comfortable, and she’s once again shaken by how lucky she is to have him.

“Thank you,” she whispers into his skin, kissing one of his pecs before she rests her face there, her eyes instantly closing as she relaxes in his hold. “For trying to help. For helping even when I’m grouchy.”

“You’re cute when you’re grouchy,” Robin says, and she can hear the amusement in his voice, feel his lips peppering kisses on the top of her head.

“I love you,” she says, cuddling closer when he whispers _I love you, too, Regina_.

She falls asleep to the steady beating of his heart, grateful for him, her discomfort completely forgotten.


End file.
